


Collateral

by impilii



Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Manipulative Relationship, Pre-Iron Man 1, Sexual Coercion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:41:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21697117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impilii/pseuds/impilii
Summary: Obie's always had Tony's back, even when he's fucked up. Especially when he's fucked up.
Relationships: Obadiah Stane/Tony Stark
Comments: 10
Kudos: 86
Collections: Consent Issues Exchange 2019





	Collateral

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LearnedFoot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearnedFoot/gifts).



Tony cracked a bleary eye open and contemplated the distance between his hand and the glass of water on the coffee table. The benefit of a sip of water, less the cost of actually sitting up and reaching for it… his brain was working at about one-millionth speed but he was pretty sure he wouldn’t even break even on that. Everything hurt, he had aches and pains from he didn’t even know what, and the hangover that wouldn’t quit was going strong into hour thirty-something. 

The distant slam of the front door sent a wave of nausea through him. 

“You need to answer the goddamn phone, Tony! Where are you?” 

He rolled off the couch with a thump. That was probably enough of a response.

Obie thundered into the room. “What the hell do you think you’ve been doing?” 

“A little respect for the living dead here, please,” he croaked into the carpet. “I think I’m getting old.” 

“You’re getting old?” Obie was practically a foghorn. “You’re going to put yourself, me and the company into an early grave.” 

Tony sighed and turned over, eyes still closed, and started ticking items off on his fingers. “The gala was a roaring success. The new surface-to-air is out to production and I had the final Tri60 revisions to R&D on Thursday. If that idiot running engineering doesn’t know how to read a spec sheet we should just fire him. But I’ve been thinking —“

Water splashed over his face, up his nose and into his mouth.

“What the fuck, Obie?” he spluttered.

Obie set the glass back on the table and dropped a thick manila envelope next to it. “I spent all night dealing with a mess you created. The least you can do is sit up when I talk to you.”

He wiped his face on the sleeve of his bathrobe and nodded at the envelope. “What is this?” 

“ _That_ is the reason I got no sleep and an undeserving hack with a camera is a hundred thousand dollars richer this morning.” 

Tony winced and pushed it back across the table. “Would now be the time to mention I don’t remember anything that happened this weekend after the gala? What’s the damage?” 

“Go on, take a look. Keep in mind that all of America could have been seeing these right now.” 

Obie was stone-faced as he spilled a pile of photos out onto the coffee table.

Tony stared at himself twenty times over. Him in a crowd of strangers, looking wasted. Him dancing with a girl, him dancing with a guy. Him with his shirt unbuttoned, some man’s hands halfway down his pants. Him with glazed eyes turned towards the camera. Him slumped on his knees, someone’s hands pulling him back to lean against a pair of male legs. Him still kneeling, with his mouth open around a second guy’s —

“You bought these from a reporter?” Tony pushed the pictures away, his skin crawling. “Negatives included? Or are there more out there?”

“More?” Obie barked a laugh. “What more do you need, a full color magazine spread—Stark Naked?” 

Dull humiliation choked him. 

Obie’s voice softened a little. “What’s going on with you lately? I thought you were dating that girl from MIT, what’s her name. The pretty brunette.”

She’d dumped him, said she needed a guy who was more down-to-earth. “She…We broke up. She was supposed to come to the gala with me.” Tony shook his head, then regretted the headache. “I just wanted to blow off some steam. But I didn’t—the cameras, those guys—I wouldn’t have let—I don’t remember any of that.” The weekend was a blur peppered with blanks. He wasn’t sure who he'd gone out with, wasn't even sure how he’d gotten back to the Hamptons, now that he thought about it. 

“You don’t have to pretend with me, Tony, I’m not your father. _I_ don’t care if you’d rather snort coke off Captain America’s dick than Miss America’s tits.”

Denial sprang to Tony's tongue. “I don’t—“

“I’m here to look out for you.” Obie sat on the couch behind him and gave his shoulder a shake. “For the company, the whole legacy. We deal with the Department of Defense, Tony, not the hippies out in San Francisco or even the CIA crowd dropping acid to brainwash the Soviets—Russians, whatever. You’re the brand new face of Stark Industries. And they won’t buy weapons from…”

Obie planted his hand on a closeup of Tony’s face so streaked and glistening it wouldn’t have looked out of place in a scrapbook of moneyshots. 

Tony snatched the photo, hearing the echo of a dozen different words that could fill in the end of that sentence. He crumpled it up and tossed it on the floor. “Our weapons are the best in the world. They’d buy them anyhow.”

“You can’t afford to be so naive. This is the kind of scandal that shakes a company to the ground. You should thank your lucky stars I got the story quashed this time.” 

Tony dug his fingers into the carpet and imagined the ways this could have gone. What his dad would have said. Obie sighed. 

“Look, I get what you’re going through.” His hand started to knead Tony’s neck. 

“Uh…” Tony wondered if he was reading this right. “You do?” 

Obie lowered his voice. “You know I’m not exactly the marrying kind myself.” 

Had Tony known that? He wasn’t sure he’d known that—Had Tony’s _dad_ known that? Obie radiated warmth as he leaned in. His breath puffed against Tony’s ear. “You’re young, you’re lonely. You’re moving up in the world and it’s hard to find people you can trust not to take advantage. It’s a damn shame about your folks, Tony, that you’re all alone in this big old house. But I’m still here. You need something, you come to me. Night or day. Okay?”

Tony nodded, dumbstruck. 

Obie gave him a lingering clap on the back and got up. 

“I’m—sorry about all this,” he managed, still staring. It wasn’t like he’d _never_ thought about Obie that way before, but he’d never _thought_ thought about it. 

“Don’t be sorry, be discreet. As much as a Stark can be, anyhow.” Obie half-smiled, grabbed his coat off the piano and swung it over his shoulder. Tony trailed him toward the door, the hardwood of the hallway cold against his bare feet. “I’ve got a train to catch to Washington, but I’ll be back in a week or two. In the mean time—stay in a little, work on some projects!”

He paused, hand on the doorknob. “And see a doctor, alright?” The front door slammed shut behind him. 

“…Right,” Tony said to the darkened foyer and shuffled back to the living room. 

The photos mocked him from the table, from the fireplace as they burned, and in the phantom sensation of hands on his skin that lingered after. 

__ __ __ __ __

The last few weeks had been a mixed bag of productivity, loneliness and disbelief. Tony had ignored the phone, the Christmas cards and end-of-year donation solicitations that piled up in the mailbox, half of which were still addressed to “The Stark Family” as if his parents hadn’t been buried for two years already. 

Snow was just beginning to fall as Obie’s doorman waved Tony up. Tony fidgeted with his hair in the hazy brass reflection of the elevator buttons. Was he nuts for this? Obie had always been there, had stepped in like a knight in shining armor after the accident, kept the press off his back, made sure the company was running smoothly. Maybe he’d read too much into it, he thought, but the way Obie’d been talking, been touching him… If he had, the designs were an okay excuse, probably. Business, titans of industry discussing industry, et cetera. 

The chime of the doorbell lasted an eternity and a half. 

“Tony!” Obie looked surprised. Pleasantly, Tony thought, though he wasn’t sure. 

“Hey, Obie,” he tried for casual. “Heard from your secretary you were back in town.” 

“Yes, just got back last night. Politicians never change. Give ‘em a chance to hear their own voices and they’ll talk for a week.”

Tony hefted the portfolio under his arm. “I brought some new designs—“

Finally, a smile. Obie opened the door a little wider. “Ah, great—come on in.” 

Tony brushed by closer than necessary, watching for Obie’s reaction from the corner of his eye. He couldn’t help but preen as Obie’s gaze lingered over the fit of his jeans.

“Sit down, I’ll pour you a scotch.” Obie gestured toward the bar stools. 

Tony looked around Obie’s apartment with new interest, though it was much the same as it had always been. Cool tones, expensive leather, bold masculine lines. No signs of any co-habitators. Tony sipped his drink and tried to think of a smooth way to approach this. 

Obie straddled a chair and made grabby hands at the portfolio. “Well? Is this an early Christmas present or what?” 

“Yeah—here, let’s start with the submunitions…” Tony knew he got a little carried away as he talked through all the ideas he’d been working on, but Obie didn't tell him to wrap it up, just kept listening and asking questions. His head bent thoughtfully over the schematics, arm brushing Tony’s, refilling Tony’s glass every once in a while.

“You _have_ been busy. I’m impressed.” Tony's chest went warm, half with the scotch, half with—whatever. So what if he liked to be complimented. Obie’s smile gained an edge of slyness. “I guess you took my advice and stayed in.”

Tony cringed a little at the reminder, but that was definitely an opening. He took a deep breath and turned to face him. “I did, actually. I’ve been thinking a lot—a little—a bit. A bit, about what you said, and I… I want…” 

His words were spinning away from him. He sagged in relief as Obie picked up the thread. “You’ve been good and you want to cut loose?” Obie lowered his voice. “I’m glad you came to me, Tony." 

"Yeah?" Tony felt a dopey smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"I’ll find you someone discreet.”

“Oh.” Tony reared back and almost overbalanced. Well that was a disastrous failure to launch.

Both of Obie’s eyebrows went up. “Unless that’s not what you want?” 

He tried to find a smooth way to backpedal, but babble poured out of his mouth instead. His hands fluttered through the drafting papers, stacking them back up. “No, I just thought—you said— that you and I— I should probably go, I'm busy, you're busy—”

“Tony, Tony.” Obie caught him by both arms and pulled him in to stand between his legs. “Reel it in. I’m just surprised. You could have practically anyone.” 

“I don’t want _any_ one,” Tony muttered, unable to lift his eyes above Obie’s sternum. 

“No?” Obie stood up and slid one hand to Tony’s hip, the other to cup his face. “You want someone who knows you, huh? Who knows how smart you are, who’ll really appreciate it when you use that smart mouth for other purposes?”

“I—“ Tony was shriveling in a flame of equal parts humiliation and desire. 

"I'd appreciate it." Obie rested his forehead against Tony’s, breath warm on Tony’s lips. “Go on, use that smart mouth. Ask me for what you want.” 

“Kiss me?” Tony leaned in.

Obie withdrew an inch and huffed a laugh. “You want to play the ingenue, is that it? ‘Kiss me’? Well, go ahead. Ask nicely.”

“Please, kiss me.” Tony’s voice came out a crackle. 

Obie’s mouth landed on his, and his arms tightened fiercely. Tony wrapped his arms around Obie’s neck and they stumbled towards Obie’s bedroom. together. 

Doors splayed open as they careened down the hallway, shedding clothes haphazardly along the way. 

The rattle of a drawer and a squirt of lube in his hand made the slide of cock against cock even more delicious as Obie pinned him to the plush covers of the bed. Obie’s fingers crept back and started to press into him. “Forget kisses.” Obie bit down his neck. “This is what you came over for, isn’t it?” 

“I—yeah,” Tony breathed. It was, also, sure. The stretch was just how he liked it, riding that edge of a little too much too fast, the same way he liked his cars, his music, and Obie was staring at him like he’d never let him go. 

“That’s right.” Obie slid his cock down past Tony’s balls along the crease of his ass, bumping it against the finger inside him. Obie pushed his thigh up and settled more heavily between Tony’s legs, guiding his cock in with a firm hand.

“Whoa, uh,” Tony gasped out. “No glove, no love, right?” 

In a flash, Tony was gooseflesh and chills, alone on the rumpled coverlet. 

“You got checked out like I told you, didn’t you?” Obie demanded from the end of the bed. 

Tony blinked and the world swam. “Yeah, of course. And I’m fine, everything’s fine—“

Obie was back on top of him, hand sliding up his thigh. “Then what’s the problem?” 

Tony squirmed as Obie gripped him again, wishing he’d said he didn’t have his results yet. “It’s just a thing I don't... You know, the—end result. I don’t like how it feels. In me, on me.” 

Obie kissed him once, twice, over and over in time with his downstrokes. “Well, I know _that’s_ not true.” His other hand tweaked Tony’s nipples. “I’ve seen the pictures, remember?”

“That wasn’t…” Tony trailed off between kisses. What could he say? He didn’t remember it, he didn’t want it now, he was pretty sure he hadn’t wanted it then. But he didn’t actually want to say any of that and ruin the moment, make Obie think less of him. He could hardly think and Obie’s hand on his dick was a steady distracting rhythm. 

“You don’t have to be embarrassed about it, Tony. I’m not the judgmental old-timer that Howard was. But how do you think it makes me feel that you’d do less for me than you'd do for a stranger in a club?”

“I wouldn’t,” Tony started to say, unsure where his sentence was going. What his dad would think of it all he didn't even want to consider, and the rest of it was wrong in a way that was taking a moment for him to figure out. "I wouldn't do less—"

“Exactly.” Obie’s bare cock pressed into him, and out. “You wouldn’t. Because you and I look out for each other. Obie and Tony. Stark Industries _contra mundi_.”

"Right." Tony yelped as Obie pushed all the way in. 

"God, you feel so good, Tony."

And it did feel good, friction and heat and firing nerve endings. Obie's weight and deep rolling thrusts kept him fixed in place, and when Tony opened his eyes, it was to meet Obie's pleased stare.

"Perfect," Obie panted, taking his hand off Tony's dick to trace his lips. His orgasm hit with all the subtlety of a jet engine, but the afterglow wasn’t enough to stem the crawling sensation that swept up his spine as Obie came inside him, warm and wet and messy. 

A shower was all Tony wanted as Obie rolled off. The slate grey tile of the bathroom beckoned.

“Stay a while, enjoy the moment.” He tugged him back down, settled a firm hand on Tony’s ass. “You’re always a thousand miles a minute, aren’t you?” 

Obie looked at Tony with a face clear of stress, barely wrinkled except for the hint of a fond smile. Tony might do any number of things for a smile like that.

“Or maybe I didn’t do a good enough job tiring you out, huh? You’re still at the age when you can go all night.” 

“I’m good.” Tony slid towards Obie, rested his head on his shoulder. His thighs were tacky where they brushed together and the mess on his stomach was starting to cool. He shuddered.

“You don’t have to try to make me feel better, Tony.” Obie’s hand slipped between his asscheeks. “The whole point of this is to make sure your needs are satisfied. If I leave you wanting, what kind of trouble are you going to get into?” 

Obie’s thumb pressed behind his balls. Two fingers pierced him, targeted his prostate. His hips jerked and so did his cock. 

“Fuck,” he hissed. “But— You’re not doing this just to— for that, right? You want—“ _me, you’re proud of me, you love..._ Tony managed to keep the pathetic litany behind his teeth and moaned instead.

The slide of Obie’s fingers felt rougher now. His skin was hot and sensitive and overtired. 

“It’s certainly not a hardship to have a gorgeous genius twenty-something writhing in my bed.”

And he was writhing. The prickling heat of overstimulated arousal ignited in flashes. “Obie, I can’t—“

“You _can’t_? I’ve never heard Tony Stark say that before.” Obie teased the rim of his hole, then pushed his fingers deep. “But if you really can’t…” 

Tony bit his lip and clutched Obie’s shoulders, giving in to the sensation. He dug his heels into the bed as Obie dragged a second sputtering orgasm out of him, more pain than pleasure to it. 

“That’s it.” Obie wiped his hand on Tony’s thigh, and kissed him. “You did good. I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me.” 

Tony felt wrung out and used. His muscles protested as he unclenched them, and breathed deeply. Obie’s arm was still heavy over him. The hair on his chest tickled against Tony as Obie curled around him. Maybe just a minute, and then he could clean up.

In the morning he woke to crusted skin, musty hangover breath and a note beside the empty bed telling him Obie had had to go in to the office early. It took an hour in the shower to feel clean. 

Getting to spend Christmas with Obie made up for it, though. They fucked warm and slow in the shower, and it wasn’t so bad to have sex bare when he was able to wash it off immediately.

__ __ __ __ __

The next few weeks passed in a boom and bust cycle of hard and fast work and hard and fast fucking. Obie never seemed to believe that Tony could be satisfied with just one orgasm, and often had two himself. It kind of made Tony wonder about what Obie’s libido had been like at his age, and whether his own was up to par. 

It was late afternoon at the office, winter daylight almost completely faded out. Tony had led a session with the entire R&D team. Everything had gone surprisingly well. For once, he hadn’t had to sit through an hour’s worth of complaints about how differently things had run when his dad had been in charge, and how much better it had all been when they walked uphill to school in the snow both ways. Tony leaned against Obie’s desk, half-finished drink in his hand, tie hanging loose around his neck, and showed off the stretch of his legs in his suit pants. Obie wasn’t even really looking though.

“And I’ve got plenty more ideas for new product lines,” he added, sitting up a little and letting his foot knock against Obie’s chair. “I’ve been thinking about body armor lately. I think Kevlar’s due for a serious—”

Obie stopped him with a thumb to his lower lip. “You know I love your creative genius thing, Tony, but I don’t want you sinking your time down rabbit holes when we should be consolidating our market share. Remember, missiles are money-makers.” 

“I know,” Tony agreed, letting his tongue flick out against Obie’s finger. 

“So what’s this performance, then? You’re feeling neglected?” Obie looked at him consideringly. 

“We’ve had a kick-ass day,” Tony said. “At least, I have. What if we cut out early, grab some—“

“You can’t just leave work whenever you feel like.”

“What, are we gonna get in trouble with the boss? Call the company owner!”

“I’m a little busy here, Tony. But feel free to get comfortable.” Obie dropped his hand to Tony’s collar and undid the top button. He kept his eyes on his paperwork as he flicked a hand toward the right. “There’s stuff in the side drawer. Press the button on the edge.” 

Tony turned around with a swivel of his hips. The mahogany drawer slid open to reveal a half empty bottle of lube and a folded up photo. Obie was still deep in his paperwork, so Tony risked a quick peek.

His blood ran cold. It was him on his knees, one man holding his mouth open from behind while another fed his cock in. “You kept this? In an _unlocked drawer_ in your office?” 

“Nobody else ever goes in there, Tony.” Obie wrapped his arms around him, plucked the photo from Tony’s fingers and closed the drawer. He rubbed himself against Tony. “Besides, it’s a good angle for you.”

Tony flushed with the same cocktail of shame and desire that Obie always seemed to inspire in him. “Get rid of it,” he said. “How did you even… I thought you left them all with me?” 

“Don’t pitch a fit, Tony.” Obie turned him around and kissed him, his hands resting heavy on Tony’s shoulders. “I’ll get rid of it.”

“Good.”

“I just don’t get to see that view often enough, you gagging for it,” he said. “And I did spend a lot of money for it. Maybe you ought to give me a better memory to replace it.” Tony gaped. Obie pressed his thumb into Tony’s mouth and rubbed it over Tony’s tongue. “Yeah, just like that.” 

Tony found himself being led back over to the desk and pushed to his knees. “I don’t—“

Obie laughed roughly. “What, are you going to try to tell me you don’t suck cock? Pretend like you don't like it?” 

"No—“

Tony was still boggling at the idea that Obie had kept that photo, had taken it out enough for it to get soft around the edges, had stared at it and jacked off to it and thought Tony looked like he was enjoying himself.

Obie unzipped, hard cock springing out. He bumped it against Tony's lips. "I'll get rid of it, for you, since it's so important to you."

Obie’s knees hemmed Tony in on both sides. His precome was wet and salty on Tony’s lips. 

“Yeah, of course,” Tony said. “Because we look out for each other.” 

“Exactly.” Obie gently brushed his cheek and through his hair. Obie’s dick felt larger in his mouth than it looked and Obie’s grip on the back of his head was relentless. Tony pulled out all his tricks, tried to make it the best Obie’d ever had. 

“You’re so good.” Obie thrust deep, over and over. “Just. Like. That.” 

Obie’s grip faltered and Tony fell back into the space under Obie’s desk. He sucked in a desperate breath, coughing. Obie rolled his chair a little closer and wiped away the tears that had sprung to Tony’s eyes. “Too much for you?”

“…No,” Tony denied, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. 

“That’s the Tony I know.” Obie grabbed his hair again and smiled.


End file.
